


Hope for the Future

by mogwai_do



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 10:09:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mogwai_do/pseuds/mogwai_do
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The past and present are the means by which the future is formed, but even they can only hint at the nature of their offspring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope for the Future

The room was cluttered in the way of most children's, but unlike most, here technology was mixed with the simplest of toys. Balls and string jumbled with holographic fractals and half-dismantled circuits; anti-gravity mesh tangled with the strings of a kite. The only bare surface was reserved for a single holographic model; a slim, dark woman smiled indulgently whenever someone moved into range of the sensors. Xerafon smiled sadly; it was a good likeness, pleasanter than his memories of the worried smiles and sad grey eyes that had been more and more frequent until those eyes had been closed forever.

Xerafon shook off his melancholy; he had duties still, if not for much longer, and he would see them done to the best of his ability. He crossed the room to the balcony and looked out onto the private gardens only accessible from the upper chambers; the steps down curved in on themselves to deposit him on the soft grass. Places like these were hard to come by now and as proud as he was of his people's accomplishments, he sometimes felt there should have been some way to lessen the cost.

Xerafon headed for the heart of the garden and its crowning glory. The tall tree had few leaves, but they had never been its principle attraction; sap wept from the branch tips, hardening in the open air to form crystal teardrops that caught and held the light. Taking their colours from the impurities in the air, the tree in full bloom was a blaze of colour. It had always been her favourite, as it had become her son's.

The boy sat beneath its boughs with his father, listening attentively in a rare moment of stillness. Xerafon stopped at a respectful distance - he had reservations about the plan, but they should not be voiced in front of the boy - quick as he was, he was still a child and Xerafon could see the fear he had been holding at bay since the death of his mother mere months ago.

He did not know how their plan had been explained to the boy, if he had been told the truth or spun a tale of hope. But there was determination now mixed in with the fear and the warrior that Xerafon had been could not help but approve.

A quick touch to his son's shoulder and the Lord rose. The man was imposing even in casual garb, tall and broad, strong in body and mind, a hard man even outside the Council Chambers. "My Lord," Xerafon greeted his master with a deferential bow. "Everything is ready."

His master nodded shortly and glanced over at the child turning a tree drop between his nimble fingers. He kept his voice low, but the determination of it was not lessened. "They will come tonight. I will not let them have him - their business is with me - no more will pay in my stead."

Xerafon bowed his head in silent acknowledgement of the Lady. She had found her happiness too late in life and when the assassins had struck she had had no recourse. It was a bittersweet fortune that the explosion had only deprived a child of his mother instead of making him an orphan outright. His Lord's vengeance had been swift and terrible as it should be, but the true culprits remained near-unassailable. Whatever his personal feelings, had there been any likelihood of reconciliation Xerafon would have counselled otherwise, but matters had long since passed the point of no return. His Lord's reputation for ruthlessness was well-deserved and recent events had only seen it enhanced. His master was no fool though, he knew too many powerful Houses stood against him. Arrogant he may have been, but he was too much the realist not to face the truth. The tide had finally turned against him; plunging their people into civil war would serve nothing but his pride and that was unacceptable for the man who had served the best interests of his people all his life. So his Lord would save what he could and face the end with dignity, and Xerafon would remain at his side as he had so sworn all those years ago.

"We will do this now; I will not lose him for the sake of hesitation." Xerafon nodded and the Lord beckoned his son to them. Xerafon offered a smile to the worried grey eyes looking up at him and received a brave return. Then the man who was the terror of his enemies and had for so long been the driving force of their great people crouched down to his son's eye level. The ruthless politician vanished leaving only a man whose heart was touchable by none save this last member of his small family. With the boy safe there would be nothing to fear, there would be no more they could do to him.

An affectionate ruffle of the dark hair then a large hand cupped the small face, almost dwarfing it. "You remember what I told you? Do not worry if the memories go - they will always return in time."

The boy nodded, an absolute faith in his eyes that only a child could offer. The Lord smiled and accepted a warm hug that one of his status should never have dignified to receive or return, but centuries of propriety had never stood a chance against his son's innocent charm. Then he stood, towering over the child, and gently pushed him back. "Ready?"

A silent nod.

"Then close your eyes." Another nod and Xerafon caught a brief glimpse of familiar determination before the grey eyes closed. The deep, resonant voice dropped lower, softening as it always did with the boy, his father's pride and joy. "Just as I told you - look inside, deep down - what do you see?"

Xerafon watched the boy carefully, watched the frown of concentration smooth out into something akin to wonder. "Light and... and like flying." The boy's voice was quiet, strangely distant, and Xerafon tried to quash his reservations even as he was amazed at the child's ability.

He was his father's son in more than mere name; self-reliance, independence and intuition were ingrained, old values nearly lost in the modern dependence on technology instead of the gifts that had made them what they were. He had always imagined that one day the boy would become every inch the Lord his father was, feared perhaps, but loved too, his father’s fearsome ability tempered by his mother’s charm and grace. He would have served the son as faithfully as the father and with no small measure of pride, but time was a fickle thing and what had once stretched seemingly to infinity was now no more than the last grains of sand trickling through their fingers. Xerafon mourned the loss of that future no less for it being stillborn.

"Reach for the light, my son, let it enfold you."

A gasp and then a frightened, childish cry, "Father, it burns!"

Xerafon fought a father's urge to comfort the child, yet his master's only discernible reaction was in the clenching of his fists. The little body folded to the ground, curling in on itself; soft, half-stifled whimpers of pain tore at Xerafon until he could no longer resist. "My Lord, this is too dangerous," but he knew it was already too late - to interrupt now would be more harmful than letting it continue.

The ability that made the Time Lords unique was a powerful gift, but it did not manifest until maturity and for good reason. It had been known to occur spontaneously in children, but it rarely went well and usually signified far greater problems. To deliberately induce a Regeneration was dangerous in the extreme for a child so young and unheard of for precisely that reason.

Dark eyes met his with a ferocity he had never before seen, "He is _my_ son, _my_ heir, he _will_ survive."

Xerafon bowed his head, chastened, but still deeply concerned. A high-pitched cry and he closed his eyes against the sudden light, unwilling to witness the possibility of his fears becoming reality. Moments later when it subsided, he opened them to see the formerly fierce face a mask of worry as his master checked over the small, crumpled form. A sigh of relief and the tiny figure was lifted up into broad arms and cradled almost desperately close.

Xerafon watched, feeling a strange pride; his master was an exceptional man who had done more for his people than any other and yet his ultimate reward was that he must surrender his only child to fate for the boy’s only chance of survival. The assassins would not make the same mistake twice, this time there would be no body to regenerate and they would not wish to leave behind an heir and future problem.

"He is _my_ son," the voice this time was soft and sad, "and he will never have the chance to know me."

Xerafon stepped up, "He is strong, my Lord; even so young as he is, he has shown greater talents, greater heart, than many of us could ever hope to achieve. We will get him away safely and that is all he will need - he _will_ survive, my Lord."

A proud smile and the crushing grip eased, allowing Xerafon the chance to see this new boy. "He looks like his mother," the words slipped past startled lips as Xerafon looked down on the pale face and fair hair. He had lost the colouring, but there was something now in the shape of the eyes, the mouth. He glanced up and watched the man press a kiss to the fair hair, no longer his Lord and master, but merely another father, and then this most precious burden was offered up to him. If he had ever doubted his master's confidence in him, it had been banished with this night's trust.

Xerafon bowed low, conscious of the honour and the trust implied, and then he took the small form. So much hope and potential to feel so light in his arms, yet he had faith, stronger now than it had ever been. "I will return when he is safe, my Lord."

A terse nod and then his master turned away. Xerafon did not wait for further orders; it was not the servant's place to witness his master's weakness, and this was his task now. He would ensure it done.

Back to the bedroom and he stripped the unwaking boy of his clothes and the rank they implied before wrapping him snugly in a blanket. There would be no evidence. Sneaking out of the manor unnoticed was no easy task, but patience and skill were his. Crossing the city itself was simpler, but he nevertheless took the greatest of care, he would fail neither his master nor the boy.

The guards at the depot were lax, the duty had long been a formality, but it relieved Xerafon’s greatest fear as he slipped inside. He looked up at the familiar shape tucked into a corner far at the back. It had been his only for a short time as he had fulfilled his duties in the service of his Lord, but when he had begun a family of his own its usage had dwindled. He still thought of it fondly and though he no longer travelled much, he had not been able to bring himself to get rid of it. Instead it had sat unused at the depot, an interest he had maintained in his free hours. The boy had taken a liking to the old girl and Xerafon had let him tinker a little with a few non-essential systems. He rather thought she'd developed a fondness for the child as well; his honest enthusiasm was a marked difference from her previous passengers, who had cared nothing for their servants in their self-importance. He was counting on that now as he slipped inside.

A low couch was waiting accommodatingly as if to confirm his thoughts and Xerafon gently laid the boy down. He went to the console to check and re-check the settings before turning back and slipping a silver chain around the boy's neck holding the TARDIS keys. He stroked the fair hair regretfully, he would have liked to see the boy grow up, shown him a few engineering tricks he'd picked up over the years. He’d planned one day to gift the TARDIS to the boy, provided his father approved, the old design was far more amenable to the boy’s habit of tinkering than the newer models. Alnya too would miss her playmate and he wasn't sure his daughter would ever forgive him for that. Though he was certain she'd prefer her friend to live far away and safe than die in the here and now.

He wasn't so sure about his master's decision to block his son's memories - even though the blocks were meant to degrade over time, it still left Xerafon uncomfortable. It was a hard life the boy was heading for, but he was bright, even above the norm, and his talent was undeniable - his father's son indeed. It saddened him that the child might never learn the truth of his father - history was written by the winners, even for Time Lords, and it didn't seem likely that it would be them.

A quick kiss to the boy's forehead and Xerafon returned to the console for one last check, "Take him somewhere safe, old girl." He touched the console - the destination was random with only a few set parameters, the TARDIS would take care of the rest. A quick pat and a last glance at the boy sleeping peacefully and then he turned and left. In the brief moment before the door closed behind him with a quiet click Xerafon felt the light beat at his back and smiled, she would look after him. He stepped away and almost immediately the slow wheeze began, when he turned back the TARDIS had faded away.

Retracing his steps across the city was easy, the journey far less fraught without his precious burden. He entered the manor openly and went in search of his master. Unsurprisingly he found him in the boy's room, the big hands delicately touching and examining the toys and tools.

"He is safe, my Lord."

The man nodded, but did not turn; a hand stroked the base of the holographic model. "He will survive; he is the best of both of us."

Xerafon smiled; the Lady's kindness, the Lord's ruthlessness, the strength of will of both and his own insatiable curiosity... Xerafon laughed, surprising himself, stifling the sound when his master turned to him with an enquiring eyebrow.

The boom of the main doors being flung open echoed throughout the manor - they were here then. His Lord would be killed or worse; he himself might be, but he was merely a servant, they might force a Regeneration upon him, monitor him for the rest of his life, but to do more would invite public scrutiny they could not risk.

His master turned and to Xerafon's surprise, bowed low. "You have my gratitude, Xerafon, for your loyalty, for your care and for your friendship. If it were within my power to reward you, I would."

Xerafon returned the bow as was only proper, "My Lord, it has been my honour to serve and you have rewarded me amply with your trust." He watched the man's dark gaze turn inward and knew the man's thoughts had turned again towards the son he would never see again. Footsteps echoed in the hall outside and Xerafon turned to his master, for once foregoing the formalities of rank, he offered a smile filled with sudden certainty, even as the steps came to a halt outside the door. "For what it is worth, I believe your son will some day rival even your reputation, my Lord Rassilon."

 

FIN


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